THE ALL-PRO (11 page)

EARTH-CREATED ARTIFICIAL SPECIES

Humanity has created two major forms of artificial life. Many laymen think that current levels of technology should make it easy to create mechanical, sentient life. This could not be further from the truth. Creating artificial intelligence has proven to be an extremely difficult affair. Even when scientists have succeeded, and then repeated their own processes step by step, they have been unable to replicate those successes. While Humans (and other biological species) can and have created intelligence “from scratch,” the actual set of parameters that makes something “sentient” has yet to be discovered. In artificial life, much like biological life, success seems to be more accident than method.

Before these artificial life forms became sentient, life was classified in three “domains”:
Archaea
,
Bacteria
and
Eukarya
. The artificial life forms listed below are so different from what we know that scientists assigned a fourth kingdom,
Facticia
, to encompass them.
Facticia
is broken down into phylums:
Pedes
, which includes artificial sentients existing in forms that move physically, like biological sentients; and
Phasmatis
, which includes sentients that exist in electronic form.

Sententia prawatt

This race is known by the common name “Prawatt.” Prawatt are in the phylum
pedes
. The Prawatt have started several wars against biological races. They attacked the Rewalls in 2438 (which was the first known interstellar combat). In 2456, the Prawatt Jihad attempted to exterminate the Kuluko race. Until the League of Planets announced that it possessed a secret preserve of Kuluko and had saved the race from extinction, most governments thought the Prawatt had succeeded in genocide.

At the beginning of their life cycle, Prawatt are a collective organism. In later stages, they become large, multi-cellular animals. Their physiology and life cycle is too complex to explain here, so please see Chapter Seven for specifics.

As an artificially created race, the Prawatt have long been denied universal acceptance as “sentient.” Recent encounters with a form of the species known as “Explorers,” however, have eliminated doubts for all but a handful of scientists (and, we should point out, all exobiologists in the Purist Nation, who claim that because man — not the High One — created the Prawatt, it is impossible for the Prawatt to actually be sentient).

There is no average size of a Prawatt, as they can take many forms.

Facticia Phasmatis

Facticia Phasmatis
is not a genus/species name, but rather a kingdom/phylum name that represents most forms of electronic artificial intelligence. Members of this phylum are so varied in form and concept that each sentient has its own specification of class, order, family, genus and species.

The first truly sentient artificial intelligence was created by League of Planets scientists and was — as is often the case — an accident. League of Planets scientist Kendra Stansak attempted to upload her consciousness into digital form. That effort failed, but created “Virus-444,” a computer program that devastated League computer systems.

Other efforts to upload the Human consciousness into digital form resulted in the creation of new entities, some of which exist to this day in multiple instances.

• • •

QUENTIN AND YITZHAK GOLDMAN
walked into an expansive reception area. Chairs for all species filled the center of the room. Holos of sports figures lined the walls, individual images of a dozen athletes frozen in dramatic action.

At the end of the circular room sat a curved desk. Behind it, a stunning blonde Human woman.

“Mister Goldman,” she said, flashing a smile that took Quentin’s breath away. “How is Ahava and your sons?”

“They’re fantastic.” Yitzhak automatically smiled at the mention of his family. “So nice of you to ask.”

The woman nodded, just once, acknowledging Yitzhak’s compliment. She fixed her perfect brown eyes on Quentin. “Mister Barnes. Welcome.”

“Hi,” Quentin said. He knew he was staring. He couldn’t help himself.

“Mister Lundy is on a call,” the receptionist said. “Would you both mind waiting? He won’t be but a moment.”

Yitzhak walked to one of the Human chairs and sat. Quentin forced himself to look away from the receptionist and did the same.

Yitzhak had counseled Quentin with off-the-field aspects of football as much as Don Pine had tutored on-field action. Zak had helped Quentin land endorsement deals, helped him manage his rage and — most importantly — given Quentin a reality check that the poor, dangerous days of the Purist Nation were in the past.
You’re not on Micovi anymore
, Zak had said. Words Quentin took to heart.

Zak’s white skin and white hair marked him as a native of the planet Fortress. Even his eyebrows and eyelashes were white, which made his coal-black eyes demand attention.

“Hey, Zak,” Quentin whispered. “That girl is
gorgeous
.”

Yitzhak nodded. “Danny likes the eye candy.”

“I guess so. Is he ... you know ...
with
her?”

Yitzhak gave Quentin a quizzical look, then laughed. “I don’t think Danny and his secretary are
an item
, if that’s what you mean. Danny just kind of does everything first class, maybe even a little over the top.” Yitzhak punctuated his sentence by gesturing to the holos that lined the room’s circular walls.

Quentin saw one of John Tweedy, staring with his wide-eyed, pre-snap insanity. Another of golfer Declan Murphy, his focused stare visible through the clear helmet of the rad-suits needed to play the sport on Ionath’s challenging courses. And a couple of Krakens linemen, Vu-Ko-Will and Bud-O-Shwek, all decked out in their black home jerseys and black leg armor.

“Huh. I knew John was one of Danny’s clients, but I didn’t know about Vu-Ko and Bud-O.” The waiting-room holos showed even more stars, including a small, armored Human that wouldn’t have even reached Quentin’s hip. Quentin recognized the little man’s red armor.

“
Wow
, is that Poughkeepsie Pete?”

“It is,” Yitzhak said. “Danny has a couple of Dinolition clients. None as major as Pete, though.”

Quentin saw a dashing, white-skinned quarterback wearing a black jersey with an orange #14 on the chest, planting his rear foot after a drop-back, looking downfield and preparing to throw. “Damn, Zak. Whoever took that shot needs a bonus.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it makes you look good. Must be trick photography.”

“Ha-ha-ha. You’re quite the comedian.”

The last holo wasn’t as bright as the others, wasn’t as dramatic. It took Quentin a moment to realize that the holo was of
him
. Not dropping back to pass, not hurdling some defensive lineman, but just standing there, jersey all beat to hell, blood on his arms and face. Standing there and looking
down
.

Yitzhak saw it as well. “That’s weird. They make me shine like a movie star, but a pretty boy like you look like you were eaten by a Ki lineman then thrown up because you soured his stomach. Sure is a lot different from the images Manny Sayed had of you on that first visit to your yacht.”

“Yeah,” Quentin said. “A lot different.”

Manny had done the
Hypatia
’s interior in various images of Quentin, each more grandiose than the last. The still and moving holos had made Quentin look like a hero, like something ... super-Human. That approach had made Quentin uncomfortable. He still didn’t think of himself as superstar — he was an orphan miner that just so happened to be blessed with unusual genetics. He worked harder than anyone else, sure, but were it not for his size, speed and strength, all the hard work in the galaxy wouldn’t have made him a starting quarterback in the GFL.

In that moment, Quentin knew Danny Lundy was the guy. Quentin hadn’t even met the agent, yet Danny had known exactly the kind of thing that would make Quentin comfortable. Sure, it was very presumptuous to put a holo of Quentin in the waiting room along with Danny’s existing clients. But this image? It looked ...
humble
. That wasn’t the way Quentin acted on the field or in the locker room, but for some reason it felt
right
.

“It’s a great shot,” Yitzhak said. “I feel like it captures the real you. Not the loud-mouth slave driver you are on the practice field, but the
real
you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Yitzhak shrugged. “You ever given any thought to what you’ll do after football?”

“Probably be scratching at the inside of my coffin,” Quentin said. “The only way I’m not involved is if I’m dead.”

Yitzhak’s black eyes stared at Quentin, stared with an expression of seriousness, importance. “People follow you, Quentin. Have you noticed that?”

Quentin shrugged. “I’m the team leader.”

“Not just on the field,” Zak said. “Off it as well. There’s something about you. People
want
to follow you. You ever think of using that for something greater than yourself? Greater than football?”

This sounded like a preacher’s pitch to draw Quentin into a prayer revival tent. “You haven’t gone all religious on me, have you, Zak?”

The backup quarterback stared, then smiled. He shook his head. “Maybe it’s a conversation for another time.”

“Maybe,” Quentin said. And if
another time
actually meant
never
, that would work out just fine.

The gorgeous receptionist caught their attention with nothing more than her blazing smile. “Mister Lundy will see you now. Go right in.”

The circular wall to the left of her desk rose up. The holos there faded out, revealing a meeting room with a thick glass table.

Waiting inside was a dolphin with legs.

“Quentin,” Yitzhak said. “Meet Danny Lundy.”

“Quentin Barnes! Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me.”

Danny Lundy stepped forward. Only Quentin’s growing experience with non-Human life forms stopped him from taking a step back, for this creature’s appearance assailed Quentin with visual input.

Danny wasn’t a
gray
Dolphin; he’d had his skin modified. The base color was white, probably, but a sheen of reds, yellows, oranges, blues and greens made him look like a moist, streamlined rainbow. He wore some kind of silver harness, a chassis that wrapped around the front and back of his bejeweled dorsal fin and also around the base of his tail. A jeweled cable ran from the harness in front of his fin up and into a metal jack just behind his blow hole. Four thin-but-strong silver leg-cables extended from the underside of the harness, supporting Danny’s weight and letting him walk. Two more silvery protrusions connected to the sides of his foremost harness circle — these looked like thin, sculptured Human arms. They even ended in metallic, Human-looking hands.

Danny walked around the table, strode forward and extended his right mechanical arm. The gesture was artificial, but obvious — he wanted to shake hands.

“Pleased to meet you, Quentin,” he said. Danny’s voice was a mix of low-volume mumbling, chitters and squeaks combined with a louder, dominant tone. Like Doc Patah, Danny Lundy had a vocal adaptor to turn his natural sounds into flawless English, words that rang with a pitch-man’s easy confidence.

Quentin swallowed, then did the courteous thing and shook Danny’s “hand.” Quentin expected cold metal, but the handshake was surprisingly warm, firm and welcoming.

“Uh ... nice to meet you too, Mister Lundy.”

“Danny,” Danny said. “Mister Lundy is my dad, for crying out loud.”

Quentin had seen Dolphins in water, of course. There had been plenty of them in Hudson Bay Station’s water tubes, the aquatic equivalent of sidewalks that also worked for Leekee and Whitokians. But he’d never seen Dolphins up close like this.

Danny had to be at least seven feet from nose to tail, as long as Quentin was tall. Even without the mechanical legs and hands, the rainbow-colored creature weighed at least three hundred pounds.

Danny gestured to the table, a motion so natural and human that Quentin almost forgot the hand and the arm were mechanical.

“Please,” the rainbow dolphin said, “have a seat.”

Yitzhak pulled out one of the four black leather chairs and sat. Quentin did the same. As Danny walked around the table, Quentin leaned in to hiss at Zak.

“Were you going to tell me he was a fish?”

Zak smiled and whispered back. “More fun this way. I wanted to see how you reacted. And he’s not a fish.”

“Whatever.”

Danny lowered his body into a chair made for his long form. “So, Quentin. Zak tells me you might be interested in representation.”

Quentin nodded.

“Good,” Danny said. “Look, I know you’re a busy Human, so I’m not going to swim in circles here. I’m a fan, buddy. I love to watch you play. I want to represent your interests. Anyone can see you have a monster career in front of you, guy, and I’ll be honest — your current contract is one floating turd of a deal.”

“A ... floating turd?”

“That might be too nice a term,” Danny said. “It’s spoiled Whitokian guts processed into a digital form and turned into a legal document. Trust me on this one, buddy.”

“Well, I know it’s not
good
, but ...”

“
Not good
? The salmon I had for lunch was
not good
, guy. Your contract? It’s atrocious, flagitious and abysmal. An athlete of your caliber needs to be properly compensated for the danger he faces, wouldn’t you agree?”

Well, yeah. Danny was right about that. Quentin
was
in danger. On every single snap of every game, his health, his career and even his life were at risk.

Quentin nodded.

“You could suffer anything from abrasions to deformations to decapitations, buddy,” Danny said. “And for this brave effort, this stalwart endeavor, this soldiering leadership, you make
league minimum
? Is that right, Quentin? League
min
imum?”